


A little bit of nothing in the night

by Kaiyo_no_Hime



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, smut with a touch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26009359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiyo_no_Hime/pseuds/Kaiyo_no_Hime
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are staying at an inn for the night.  Rather than enjoy in the pleasurable company of others who made themselves available after his performance, Jaskier decides he'd rather enjoy the night with his witcher.“But, downstairs,” Geralt trailed off, making a motion with his hands.“You mean downstairs, with the beautiful and busty maiden to whom poets pray when they bring themselves to completion while laying alone in splendid summer fields of radiant wild flowers,” Jaskier asked with a chuckle. “I rather had intentions for another bed tonight.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 203





	A little bit of nothing in the night

The smoke of the room and the smell of piss and stale ale tore at Geralt’s nose. He hated coming into towns, hated the cacophony of chaos that assaulted his senses, but it was necessary. He needed to earn coin for supplies, and Jaskier needed to sing. 

The bard easily earned more than he did gallivanting around the room, half drunk, his voice cheerful and his lute practically dancing in his hands. So Geralt sat there, a mug of stale, half water piss that the innkeeper was trying to pass off as ale, and tried not to growl at everyone that got near to his little seat in the shadows. He had gotten his coin, and they would be off in the morning.

Let the bard have his fun tonight, he would certainly be complaining about the lack of luxuries as they bedded down under the stars on the morrow.

Geralt sipped at the ale, not even pulling a face at the acrid taste, and watched the bard spin and dance and lean in to flirt with one of the bar wenches. He snorted at that, glad he had only spent enough coin to get a room with a single bed instead of wasting more on a second. He knew Jaskier had other luxuries he missed outside of civilization, and he certainly wouldn’t bemoan sleeping in a room alone for the night.

Though he would have to keep an ear out to make sure he didn’t have to save the damn fool halfway through the night when someone’s husband inevitably took offense at Jaskier’s fondness toward their wife. No matter how many times he told the other man to check streams before he hunted for fish, he always managed to find sharks.

A few hollers went through the crowd as Jaskier winked and gyrated toward an especially sloshed man, and Geralt just drank deeper. He had once had to ride out while four separate spouses tried to chase them down to hang the bard. He hoped Jaskier wasn’t setting themselves up for another, similar, situation.

He enjoyed a night of sleep without having townspeople that barely tolerated him in the first place deciding it was just as easy to murder him as glare. 

With a round of applause and some shouts the music came to an end and Jaskier accepted a frothing mug of ale. Geralt snorted and smiled as he watched the bard wince at the drink, at least now in confirmed that it wasn’t just him that had been served the piss water, 

And, given how the busty bar wench was leaning over Jaskier, her ample bosoms half falling out into his face, Geralt knew the entertainment for the evening was over. He had stayed long enough to make sure a surely drunk didn’t go after the bard, and would now leave Jaskier to deal with whatever mischief he got up to on his own. Though, undoubtedly, should anything happen Geralt knew he would be dragged into it.

But later. After he was asleep in his own bed, ignoring the fleas and the smells that buffeted him from every side.

The stairs were rickety, and the doors even more so. He could hear a few patrons snoring, and a few more making use of whatever free market whores they had found. No different than any other inn. But at least the room next to his was quiet, and the room was warm. 

The door was barely closed before it was opened again, Jaskier slipping in, a breathless smile smeared across his face.

“Now that’s what I call a proper night!” He laughed, lute in hand as he slumped back against the door.

“The ale tastes like stale piss,” Geralt reminded him, beginning to shuck off his clothes and pack them carefully away next to his bags.

He was surprised that Jaskier had followed him up to his room, he had certainly had enough of an audience to keep him entertained downstairs. But Jaskier was protective of his lute, and the thick coin pouch that clattered at his side. Both would be safer here, with Geralt, than they would be as he fell into a random bed.

“Yes, but the atmosphere is ambrosia,” Jaskier said, carefully placing his lute next to Geralt’s swords, and beginning to remove his doublet.

Geralt stared at him, completely confused. 

“What are you doing,” Geralt asked as Jaskier continued to carefully undress, folding his clothes.

“Getting ready for bed, what does it look like,” Jaskier commented, fiddling with a tie that had slipped a knot.

Geralt glanced at the single, fairly narrow, bed, and then back at Jaskier. True, they had shared beds before, but normally more out of requirement than preference. Mostly when autumn hit a winter chill earlier than expected and Geralt was half afraid the bard would freeze before morning. 

But not when Jaskier had the option of sharing beds with others. Especially not when Jaskier had the option of happily spending at least half the night in bed with others.

“But, downstairs,” Geralt trailed off, making a motion with his hands.

“You mean downstairs, with the beautiful and busty maiden to whom poets pray when they bring themselves to completion while laying alone in splendid summer fields of radiant wild flowers,” Jaskier asked with a chuckle. “Married. Not to the blacksmith, mind you, but one of his dear brothers. And I would so hate to cause mayhem amongst the family over such a simple night. Especially when, apparently, her husband would not be happily joining us in bed.”

Geralt shrugged. It would be the first time he had seen Jaskier make the wiser choice to leave well enough alone, but he was half grateful he had. Being chased by the blacksmith and his associated relatives would have made for an uncomfortable run for Roach, and she really did deserve her rest.

“And besides,” Jaskier grinned, stripping down completely and approaching Geralt. “I rather had intentions for another bed tonight.”

Geralt let Jaskier lean in, the scent of oranges and chamomile dancing across his senses, barely hidden beneath the dirt and dust of the road. Jaskier always smelled like that to him, like tea in a library. Bright eyed and excited about writers long dead.

Jaskier’s eyes were bright now as he nuzzled against Geralt’s ear, a hand stroking against his inner thigh.

“I can think of other people that I would much more prefer in my bed tonight,” Jaskier whispered, nibbling at his ear.

Geralt groaned, and Jaskier palmed him through his smallclothes. He should have known the bard would catch on. Staying until the end of performances to make sure he was safe, staying at inns longer than necessary for his comfort. He had even bought a few damn pouches of spices to make the food he caught more palpable.

But they couldn’t do this. Jaskier was so very, very human. They crumbled away in less than a century, were broken so easily. He didn’t want to have this, and then lose it one day. To mourn warm nights in cold beds after he was once again alone.

Jaskier wrapped a hand around his back and pulled himself flush against Geralt’s chest when Geralt tried to take a step away. He lapped an suckled against his neck, and began stroking him through his small clothes.

Geralt closed his eyes and grit his teeth, already hard against Jaskier’s careful, delicate ministrations.

“Geralt, I want this too,” Jaskier assured him. “There’s nothing wrong with fun in bed amongst friends.”

“Just amongst friends,” Geralt said through gritted teeth.

Jaskier was his friend, he wasn’t going to run away in horror in the morning. He wasn’t going to care that everyone thought they had slept together. Hell, half the inns they stayed at thought they were sleeping together already. Why not just give in? He certainly had with Yennefer before.

Having a taste of Jaskier to remember would make those future nights a little warmer.

“Always,” Jaskier hummed in agreement forcing Geralt to step back and sit on the bed.

Geralt was already half out of his smallclothes before Jaskier was on him, lips tasting of stale ale, hot hands dancing across his chest. Fingers played at his nipples, and his hands found Jaskier’s ass and pulled him close.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you,” Jaskier grinned. “Good, I want to have fun tonight.”

Jaskier ducked down, and Geralt moaned as Jaskier’s tongue licked carefully up the side of his shaft, his hand gently cupping his balls, his fingers delicate, stroking upwards and gently teasing after his tongue.

A second time, this time little kisses, and Geralt grit his teeth as he strained not to cum at the feeling, Jaskier’s other hand massaging his ass. He could see why courts kept him around, no matter the chaos left in his wake, if he was half as good with half of them in bed.

Warm heat engulfed his head, and Jaskier’s clever little fingers began stretching at his hole, gently stroking in time with his mouth. He could feel Jaskier’s tongue twisting along the head, his balls cupped, fingers stretching and reaching deep inside, and Geralt let the tide flow over him.

He came with a stuttered growl, thrusting forward into Jaskier’s mouth, and slumped back with a sigh as Jaskier swallowed him down. Jaskier stood, wiping at his mouth with a smile, and sat across his lap, nibbling at his neck and stroking languidly at a nipple.

“Now, how many times can a Witcher cum in a night, I wonder,” Jaskier asked. “Because you’re certainly impressive enough that I think we can go at least another round.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Geralt groaned, feeling himself beginning to harden again in Jaskier’s hand.

“And I shant leave you wanting more,” Jaskier promised.

Geralt didn’t even know where the vial of oil had come from, nor did he care. He simply relaxed into the bard’s careful fingers as he stretched and massaged the oil into his hole, lapping at his ear and whispering sweet praises all the while.

A single finger, two, then three and four. Full enough to make stars glitter behind his eyes while the pads brushed that little something deep inside. Clever little fingers his clever little bard had. And how clever he was to use them.

Geralt nearly growled when they were removed. He grabbed Jaskier and pulled him close, devouring his mouth and snapping at his lips. He wanted more.

“Just a moment,” Jaskier chuckled, and Geralt watched him pouring oil onto his own cock. “You’re like a child demanding sweets.”

Geralt did growl at that, leaving a few well earned marks of his own on Jaskier’s neck, his hand reaching down to help the bard with his oil. Firm and warm in his hand, Geralt enjoyed the feeling, stroking and twisting, letting his palm glide over the oil. 

Jaskier gasped, his mouth parted, and Geralt grinned. That was the quiet face of his bard that he wanted to see.

“Not,” Jaskier gasped out, his hand on Geralt’s shoulder as he shuddered. “Not so fast.”

Geralt slowed his hand, parting his legs and guiding Jaskier down. He knew he had the stamina to cum several more times tonight, but he wasn’t sure how far a half sloshed bard would go. And he didn’t want to bring the night to an end across his chest.

“So warm,” Jaskier panted, his cock against Geralt’s hole, teasing for just a moment, before he began to slide slowly in.

Geralt groaned, thrusting his hips up and trying to get purchase against the sheets. Jaskier grinned, setting a slow, languid pace, stroking Geralt’s cock with just the tips of his fingers. 

“Not a fucking maiden,” Geralt snapped, wrapping his legs around Jaskier’s waist and pulling him close, swift and hard.

“Don’t need to remind me,” Jaskier said, thrusting hard and making stars shoot across his vision.

Jaskier’s mouth was all teeth and tongue as he attacked his left nipple, a hand still slippery with oil at his cock, and a pace hard enough that Geralt was half afraid the bed wouldn’t survive the night. But fuck the bed, there were more important things to be had.

He nipped and groaned into Jaskier’s shoulder as his bard continued thrusting, his hand squeezing as it twisted and Geralt could feel himself ready to cum again. He panted against Jaskier’s neck, hoping his bard understood, and Jaskier nodded, nuzzling into his neck.

Two more thrusts and he was groaning into his ear, and Geralt bit his tongue against a howl as he came again, painting their chests.

Jaskier, heaving, slipped out of him, rolling to his side and pressing gentle kisses against his shoulder.

“Better than the heavenly bar maiden,” Geralt asked with a grin.

“So much better than the bar wench,” Jaskier confirmed with a sleepy smile, rising to grab a rag from his pack. Geralt smiled as he saw his marks dotted across his bard’s skin, a lingering sign of how much he had enjoyed the night.

Jaskier cleaned them both up, tossing the rag to the side, before crawling over Geralt, settled against the wall, and Geralt pulled the blankets over them both.

“Do love a good fuck amongst friends,” Jaskier muttered sleepily. “More convenient than spending half the night running.”

Geralt’s heart stuttered at that. Just a good fuck between friends, he reminded himself. That’s all this was. It could never be anything more. Jaskier was just a friend, something witchers weren’t even supposed to have.

One day too, he would leave him.

Just like Jaskier left all the people he slept with.

Geralt swallowed, pulling the other man close and holding his sleeping form tight. They were good friends, at least. His bard hadn’t tried to leave once they were done. Maybe he would stay a little longer.

But at least he would stay through the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone: *blinks*
> 
> Jaskier: you put angst in your pwp one shot?
> 
> Me: it wasn’t intentional!
> 
> Jaskier: … you put _angst_ in your pwp one shot!
> 
> Me: look, it just happened!
> 
> *Jaskier sighs and face palms*
> 
> Jaskier: well, at least I didn’t get sworded this time.
> 
> *Geralt just grins in the background*
> 
> So yeah, I'm trying to get a grasp on writing smut and decided hey, I don't need a novel length fic to practice smut with. One shots are fun too. So I hope you all enjoyed!


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